


Fixing an Unhappy Variable

by elistaire



Series: Happy Math and Science [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Math and Science Metaphors, Multi, Poorly done metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's still thinking of everything in terms of equations and variables, and Clint is a heck of an indeterminate issue.  Tony isn't exactly sure how he can solve for an unhappy variable. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Their little balanced equation was a bit more lopsided than Tony found comfortable, sometimes.  Like a leaky rowboat, it listed to one side....</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Still, it didn't sit right with Tony.  Something was off, and it made him edgy.  Watching Clint walk away to his own room set Tony's teeth on edge in a way he couldn't quite categorize. </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>On a whim, Tony followed Clint.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fixing an Unhappy Variable

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday Fic! 
> 
> I'm posting just a tiny bit late, but its still my birthday in some time zones, so it counts. :) 
> 
> On my birthday, I like to give stories, and this is one of them. 
> 
> I didn't exactly intend to make this into a series, but it seems there was at least a little bit more to say about things. Enjoy!

Tony rubbed his thumb over the mechanism that operated the bail, didn't like the way it still caught just a bit, and went back to work dismantling the entire fishing reel again. It was Happy's reel—his favorite, he claimed—and Tony had offered to take a look at it, after overhearing Happy telling Josiah, one of the tower security guards, how he'd taken it to three different places and no one could fix it _quite_ right. Tony never could resist a challenge, or an opportunity to do something better than the competition, and then boast about it. Plus, it would make Happy glad, and Tony wanted that, too. 

He'd spent most of the day down in his lab, making minor adjustments to the suit, and would have stayed down in the lab, except that he'd finally succumbed to a mellow case of ennui. Bruce was out of town at a conference and Clint was gone on a top secret mission, and Tony was feeling a bit out of sorts. Even though the living space was henceforth empty, Tony just liked being there. It had Bruce ambiance everywhere and a few echoes of Clint as well. Clint hadn't been with them for very long, but Tony guessed that Clint traveled light, and that even having such faint hints of him in the apartment was tantamount to as much permanency as he ever laid claim to.

So, Tony had a work towel spread out on the living room table, and was dissembling the reel and then reassembling it, figuring out its form and function. He was pretty sure that he could design a much more efficient one, and had been debating the merits of putting the time into such a project, when the door unexpectedly opened. 

Clint came in, looking ragged and weary, with a black-brown smudge of something hideous streaked from his jaw to his hairline, and even into his hair. "Oh, hey, Tony," he said, as he entered. He looked around. "Bruce?"

Tony shook his head. "Science Conference in Pittsburgh. He's back tomorrow afternoon."

"Oh, okay," Clint said, but he looked disappointed.

Tony observed Clint for a long moment. He looked utterly exhausted, and excruciatingly filthy. After harsh assignments, he usually came home, looking for Bruce, and tended to hang near him. It was still a substitution for what he really wanted, which was the shockingly gentle ministrations of the Hulk, but Hulk wasn't readily available, so Bruce had to do. Through Bruce, Clint was able to tell Hulk that he was there, and through Bruce, Hulk was able to know that Clint was safe. Which was absolutely necessary, because at even a whisper of danger, the Hulk would probably force his way to the surface, and then smash everyone even remotely involved into pulp. 

Clint's presence in the bedroom had finally allowed Tony and Bruce to consummate their desires, without worrying that the Hulk would make an impromptu cameo appearance, and Tony never regretted for a moment that inclusion. Clint was a delicious candy-coated treat that would rot one's teeth and spoil one's supper, and Tony craved him. But, when it came to other things, like the heart and attachment and feelings, for Tony, it was all Bruce.

All three of them had known that score when they'd started playing this game. 

It just seemed infinitely unfair to Clint, though, no matter how Tony sliced the onion, that neither Tony nor Bruce were exactly what Clint wanted. Bruce was as close as he might get, but even then, it wasn't the same. Tony had gotten everything he could have wanted. Bruce in his bed and in his heart, and then Clint on the side. As far as Tony knew, Bruce got what he wanted as well. All of Tony, and a seriously diminished anger issue because the Hulk tended to be a lot more calm, and a lot less gate-crashing, when Clint was around.

Their little balanced equation was a bit more lopsided than Tony found comfortable, sometimes. Like a leaky rowboat, it listed to one side. 

"He's been going to a lot of conferences, now that he doesn't have to hide," Tony said. "In fact, he's been invited to more of them than he could physically attend. Unless he cloned himself. Which I told him I'd help with. But he declined, as usual. Party-pooper."

That got a half-smile out of Clint, one corner of his mouth twitching just a bit, and his eyes flickered into an indulgent look before settling back again into weary and world-worn. 

"He's got lost time to make up for," Clint acknowledged, and it was said without bitterness, but with an air that Tony knew was sincere. Clint might wish that Bruce was there, to ground him, to offer him solace, and the Hulk's inner ear, but he didn't begrudge Bruce his scientific opportunities. 

Tony didn't want to get Clint's hopes up, but he knew that lately, Bruce's goals concerning the Hulk had changed considerably. Instead of searching for a way to eradicate him, Bruce was looking for a way to stabilize him, and perhaps take the edge off the anger. If Bruce could ever manage to control the transformation entirely, then Clint wouldn't have a lousy forty-five seconds of interaction at the end of a fight. He'd have as much time as he needed. 

Then, he and Tony would _definitely_ have to sit down and work out visitation rights and scheduling. Until then, it was just a hypothesis and a full blown pipe dream. 

Clint moved toward his bedroom. Most nights, he slept in the same bed with Tony and Bruce, but he did maintain a separate bedroom, where he stored his belongings, and where he could retreat if he needed space. Or if Tony and Bruce were opting for more duality, and Tony wasn't sure if he should feel guilty about that, or grateful that he still was able to monopolize Bruce sometimes. 

Still, it didn't sit right with Tony. Something was off, and it made him edgy. Watching Clint walk away to his own room set Tony's teeth on edge in a way he couldn't quite categorize. 

On a whim, Tony followed Clint. He stopped just short of the threshold, and watched as Clint started to descale the items from his battle suit. 

Clint paused, a knife in his hand, to check over his shoulder. "Everything okay, Tony?" he asked. 

"Mostly," Tony answered, sifting his thoughts around in his head and trying to figure out what was causing the disgruntled feeling. He braced one arm against the door jamb, above his head, and leaned forward. 

Clint seemed to consider the answer. "There's enough left over that's not okay, then," he said. "When you subtract out that 'mostly'." He sighed and rubbed the inside corner of his eyes with the fingers of one hand. "Can it wait until Bruce gets home?"

"Bruce can't fix this one," Tony said. He'd started to unravel the knot which held the core of his dissatisfaction, and while he didn't quite have it all figured out, he knew it had to do with Clint, and himself, and nothing to do with Bruce. Some of it had to do with the heated irritation building under Tony's skin, and the insistent urge that since Clint was home, that Tony needed to…talk to him, fight with him, roll with him…Tony wasn't yet sure. He ran the fingers of his free hand over the molding framing the door, but he stayed out of the room as if an invisible force-field was restraining his movement. "Invite me in?"

Clint stopped pulling things out and putting them away, and frowned at Tony in the doorway. "Since when did you ever bother waiting for an invitation?" he asked, a thread of suspicion underlying the light jovial delivery. 

"Today," Tony answered. "Right now, in fact." He moved like a mime, and pounded a fist against the imaginary barrier. "Come on, invite me in."

Clint surveyed the situation and then sucked in air before closing his eyes. "I'm really not in the mood for games right now."

"Who's playing a game?" Tony returned. "I'm completely serious."

"Bruce will be back tomorrow. We can play then."

"Clint," Tony wheedled, "invite me in."

"No," Clint said. "Bruce isn't here."

"Please?" Tony changed his position against the door frame, jutting his hip against it, and then cartoonishly ran a finger up and down the edge in a parody of blonde bombshell desire. Clint saw it and just shook his head. Tony gave up on the lighthearted attempt, and schooled his expression into something more serious. "We talked about this, all three of us. You know that Bruce wants the both of us to get along better, particularly when he isn't here. If this is going to last, if it is going to be a long term solution, then we need to deal with some of our issues."

"Can we deal tomorrow?" Clint asked.

Tony put both his hands up in surrender. "Third time's the charm," he said. "If you change your mind, I'll be working on a stubborn fishing reel." Tony retreated to the dining room table and settled himself down to deal with the mechanism that refused to work smoothly. He'd tried with Clint, and it hadn't worked out, so he pushed the uneasy curl of directionless desire to the edges and ignored it. It hardly made a difference, because even as he worked on the fishing reel, his mind was unraveling the tangle in his mind. 

He wasn't sure how much later it was, but it was well after he'd heard Clint's shower sounds cease, when he felt a light touch to his shoulder. 

Tony put down the tiny screw he'd been wiggling out, and turned to face Clint. He was cleaned up, except for the faintest hint of leftover smudge on his face, with his hair still wet from the shower and his skin glowing pink and warm. 

"I've got some cleaner stuff in the shop that'll get that off your skin. It works on everything. Seriously. I don't know what they put in it. Maybe the collected tears of angels, but it gets grease and oil off skin that feels like its penetrated through to the inner dermis. 

Clint trailed his fingers across Tony's shoulder to the back of his neck. "I've been thinking," he said. "I hate having issues. So. You're invited."

Tony leaned back in his chair, face up. He reached up and wrapped his fingers at the back of Clint's head and slowly pulled him down until they were face to face. "What issue do you want to work on first?" Tony asked, his voice hitching. 

"Whatever issue it was that brought you knocking on my door," Clint replied. 

"Hmm, yeah. See, that's a really big issue, and it might even be better not to call it by its true name." Tony released Clint and he slid off his chair and stood up. Then he crowded in close against Clint, putting them face to face again. "Unless you want to give it a name?"

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Horace," he said, with a cheeky grin. "I've named it Horace. Okay?"

Tony snickered. "Sure. Brilliant. Let's go deal with Horace." He strode toward Clint's bedroom, and didn't miss Clint's glance toward their shared bedroom. "Nuh uh," he said. "That way lies madness. Or, maybe not madness, but definitely Horace." 

"I thought we wanted to subdue Horace," Clint said as he followed. 

"First things first, then Horace makes like a piano down a staircase," Tony replied. He reached his destination and sat down on the bed and waited as Clint entered his own room. Clint looked suddenly wary, and he was checking corners. 

"But here…." Clint shook his head. "Without Bruce…."

"Exactly," Tony said. "This room is yours, and I'm an invited guest." Tony reached out to take Clint's hands and then gently pulled him down to the bed. "Just the two of us," he said. "No Bruce. Because if he's not here, we still have to balance each other out." Tony stroked his hands down Clint's arms, and Clint closed his eyes. 

"Bruce will be back tomorrow," Clint murmured, trying one last time, and Tony hushed him with two fingers to his lips. 

"Not tonight," Tony said. "It's you and I, and no Bruce. Just us. We can do that, together, right? Bruce wanted us to try."

"Yes," Clint said, his eyes still closed, and suddenly Tony noticed the sandy color of his eyelashes, and saw again that the shadow of the smudge from earlier was still there on Clint's skin. Tony rubbed at it with a thumb, but it didn't come off, and Clint made a small gasp. It was only the matter of an inch or two, and Tony pressed his thumb against Clint's mouth, and Clint bit at the fleshy pad of it. 

After a moment, Tony went back to Clint's arms. He rubbed back up and then down again, and Clint leaned in, pressing him back onto the bed, and then Clint started nuzzling under Tony's chin, in the crook of soft flesh where his pulse pounded. 

"We can't be—" Tony gulped in some air as Clint began working Tony's shirt free, and his fingers pressed against Tony's abdomen. "We can't be unknown variables."

"Trying to define us?" Clint asked, his voice guttural, against Tony's throat. 

"Yes," Tony answered, "of course, yes." Because he was. He'd balanced the equation, but it has been slipping out of equilibrium, and he couldn't understand why. The more weighted it became, the less stable, and that made Tony uneasy. 

"Just you and I, and no Bruce," Clint stated as he ran his thumbs down Tony's sides, to end at his hipbones, pressing in at the notches there. "And this'll make you figure it all out?"

Tony wasn't as coherent now as he'd been five minutes ago, and so his only answer was to grunt a noise from the back of his throat, and to cant his head forward to catch Clint's mouth. Clint kissed him back just as roughly, and they were off. Clothing was removed with extreme prejudice, and positions were jostled into, touching was done with stiffened fingers, and no quarter was given, nor none asked for. 

Halfway through, when Tony's insides were roiled and grated harsh and uneven, and he couldn't think of hardly anything but getting to his destination, underneath his hands he felt a tremor. He paused, searching, searching, for the source, and oh, his grip on Clint's wrist was awkward and twisting. He released his hand and then rubbed the spot tenderly. "Sorry," he whispered, and Clint blinked at him, wary and with trust wavering, and suddenly all the variables whirled in Tony's brain, revealed and brazen, and defiant. "Oh," Tony said, as the knowledge sunk into him.

Tony stilled, and after a moment, Clint responded by also pausing. "Are you hurt?" Clint asked, eyes searching down Tony for injuries.

"I'm fine," Tony whispered back, and reached out to grasp at Clint's wrist again, soft and flexible. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed at the skin over the prominent bone there. Clint watched him with a troubled expression. 

"What—"

"This is not _for_ Bruce," Tony said, because he'd realized he'd been trying to balance the wrong equation. He'd already balanced three constants. What he hadn't yet solved for was an equation with only Tony and Clint in it, and Bruce removed. "I'm not trying to beat up Horace for Bruce. But for you." Tony wasn't sure he could be any more clear. He'd _thought_ it _was_ for Bruce that he'd attempted this. Because Bruce was strained between them, giving to Tony, and giving to Clint, and constantly going back and forth like a ping pong ball at a championship tournament. But it wasn't. Even earlier, it had been because Tony wanted things to be better, and he'd wanted Clint to be at ease. If it'd been just for Bruce, Tony would have kept at the reel, all night, but this was independent now. 

Tony released Clint's wrist, and brought both his hands up to the sides of Clint's face. "Get it?" he asked. 

Clint shook his head. "I don't—"

Exasperated, Tony let go of Clint and groaned. "We're the snake eating its own tail. Like a benzene ring," he said, and then because Clint looked unconvinced and confused, he kept going. "Okay. Maybe not exactly benzene, because there are three of us and not four, so carbon doesn't make sense here, but you know benzene, right? Right, everyone knows benzene. But the important thing, is we're _sharing_. And it’s a lousy metaphor, so don't listen to me entirely, but we're a ring, not a linear equation. But, it's the alternating double _and_ single bonds, and it goes around and around, always _alternating_. Like the snake. Right? And I care just as much about _you_ as about Bruce." Tony gulped in air as he searched Clint's face, hoping for understanding, and looking for coherency. He also hoped Clint knew it was true. Tony _cared_ about Clint, in a way that he hadn't before. Proximity was starting to meld them together, and change Tony's outlook. Clint had crawled under his ribcage, and was waiting there, just next to Bruce. 

"Sharing," Tony said again, although it felt so redundant. "Alternating," he repeated. "Tell me it wasn't just for Bruce," Tony said. "You didn't invite me in just because you wanted to appease Bruce."

Clint sat back, studying Tony with an unreadable expression, before he slowly nodded. "Not just Bruce," he said. "I felt…I wanted to do something to make you happy. Because you were upset when I didn't invite you in earlier."

Warmth bloomed in Tony's chest at the confession. 

A small frown formed on Clint. "But I shouldn't," he said. "Hulk."

"Hearts can grow as big as they need to, to accommodate," Tony said. "Hulk's already got a big heart. I bet he already knows."

"Maybe," Clint hedged, but then he smiled down at Tony, and it was affectionate and fond, and touched with indulgence, and Tony knew that Horace was dying, and soon to be dead and buried deep. 

The rest of the night was warm and soft, yielding at all the perfect moments, and completely thorough. The wellspring of hot desire in Tony had finally shed its salt, and now only the sweetest water flowed forth, and into a basin that he thought had no bottom, and an infinite width. 

~~~ 

Bruce, of course, was more than pleased at the development, and tucked himself in against them both at night, fluttering his fingers against their pulse-points, and kissing them ever backwards and onwards. 

Clint smiled, and it was genuine. Bruce tipped his face down at the sight, not quite hiding his delight, but Tony saw them both. And they both saw him, because Tony never hid his own grin. 

~~~ 

Three weeks later, at the end of another inner city battled, amid the scorched rubble and concrete dust, Tony watched as Clint approached the Hulk. 

Hulk swept Clint up, cradling him, more gentle than ever. Clint smiled up, whispering recent secrets, and Hulk listened, though Tony thought that his unfurrowed brow and relaxed eyebrows gave it all away. Looking at Clint radiate happiness, there was no way for Hulk not to understand that it was truly directed at _Hulk_. 

Tony had meant to turn away. Clint and Hulk deserved their forty-five seconds without an audience, but he couldn't. It was too captivating to turn away from, and achingly familiar from not so long ago—such sweet, short, heartrending reunions. So, when Hulk dropped his chin above Clint's head, pulling him in to an embrace, Tony was surprised to see Hulk look straight at him. A smile lifted one side of his mouth, and the barest tilt of his head acknowledged Tony. 

Then, Bruce was there instead, looking up and away at Tony, hugging Clint, and he was still smiling.


End file.
